


Everything has its wonders (even darkness and silence)

by bemusedbicycle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/pseuds/bemusedbicycle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian has his voice taken and it's used against Emma. Established relationship, Captain Swan one shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything has its wonders (even darkness and silence)

“Emma!”

His voice is loud and panicked and she barely has time to brace herself before his body is barreling into hers, arms wrapping around her tight as they both go careering to the ground. He lets out a loud grunt - trying to turn them fractionally so his body absorbs the blow – but it isn’t enough (it is never _enough_ ) and Emma can just barely make out the pleased grin of the witch ( _another_ witch – seriously when is it _enough_?) as her hand raises high in the air.

She inhales sharply and tries to roll them over with a leg around his hips but he doesn’t budge, blue eyes sliding open fractionally as a large orb of black smoke dances between the witch’s fingers. It grows and swarms – like a hoard of angry bees – and he just gives her a tired smile, arms crushing her tighter to his chest.

“Apologies, darling.” He whispers and his lips brush over hers in a sweet gesture – soft and relaxed and everything this situation is _not_ as the witch lets her spell fly. It’s a goodbye – she can feel it in the sureness of his movements – and it makes everything inside of her shatter and break. She thinks she screams - her fingers most certainly bruising as they anchor on to his forearms – and she _feels_ it the second the spell makes contact. Hook shudders in her arms and drops his forehead against hers, his breath ragged as his hold loosens. 

The moisture on her cheeks tells her she’s crying but she is too numb to feel, too numb to think.

“Hook?” Whispered on a sob, she shifts in his arms until a hand is free.

“Killian.”

Her fingers tremble as she traces his cheek, the witch disappearing and deafening silence descending over the clearing. His breath is hot against her collarbone and she is thankful for that – thankful that his lungs are still moving and his heart is still hammering beneath her palm.

His eyebrows furrow low on his forehead as he shifts against her, fingers clenching and unclenching over her hip. His mouth falls open and she watches as his lips shape around words, but no sound escapes.

She slips her fingers back around his ear, carding through his thick, dark locks and anchoring there. His eyes blink open suddenly and she lets out a deep breath, practically shivering in her relief.

“You okay?”

He nods but his eyes hold confusion and she’s just about to repeat herself when again he mouths silent words. Panic flashes through his eyes and his fingers tighten against her as sudden realization comes crashing down.

The witch took his voice.

-/-

“Wait, doesn’t this witch deal in fear?”

They are gathered together in the loft, seated around the large wooden table with mugs of coffee and tea. Killian is staring at his mug with something akin to disgust and the look he shoots her as the group around them descends into contemplation doesn’t need words.

He arches an eyebrow. _I hate this herbal rubbish_.

“Perhaps the pirate fears not being able to make such _amusing_ quips.” Regina reclines in her seat while crossing her arms, sarcastic grin lifting the corners of her lips. Killian’s gaze shifts to hers with a sneer and he swivels his head, mouthing words that are _definitely_ indecent. She chuckles. “Where can I submit a thank you card?”

Irritation flares in Emma’s stomach as her chest squeezes painfully. “We don’t know what else is associated with the spell. I’d rather not have him keel over out of the blue.”

She looks down at the table as her words drift off and she can _feel_ his gaze burning into her forehead. But she keeps her eyes steadfastly away from his, even as she sighs and glances towards a regretful Regina. Robin smoothes his hand down her arm and she shifts further into his grip, lips twitching in a frown.

“Maybe it’s not his fear at all.” Her father’s voice is calm as she turns her head to look at him. He shrugs but its tense and painful and the churning in her stomach only increases.

“Maybe it’s yours.”   

-/-

It’s late when they finally fall into bed and his arms close around her immediately, hauling her across the large bed and rolling them until he’s perched above her – his blue eyes bright and intense in the darkness of their room. Her fingers tangle in the pendants that hang low around his neck and she sighs because her father is right – losing him is _her_ greatest fear and she has a sinking suspicion in the pit of her chest that he was never the witch’s target at all. That everything that day in the clearing went _exactly_ as the witch planned it and the idea that _he_ has to pay for her pain only makes the gaping hole expand.

His lips find hers and he is soft and gentle and _loving_ as she pulls him closer, losing herself in the feeling of him. His nose brushes against her cheek as he ducks his head down, fingers sliding from her hip under her worn t-shirt, lips brushing her collarbone.

It’s odd not hearing him say a word – disconcerting in the worst of ways. He’s a man who likes to tell her how he feels when they move together – how she feels beneath him, above him, around him. But as he drags her shirt up and over her head, she hears his words all the same – in the way his lips brush over her body, in the way his fingers drag over her skin.

_Beautiful_. His eyes say as he thumbs at her breast, the white of his teeth flashing into a grin as she moans at his touch.

_Do you like that?_ As he finds her hot and wet and wanting, fingers sliding and searching as she pushes up into him, broken gasp caught in her throat when he _moves_ , suddenly _there_. She answers _yes, god yes_ as his fingers find a rhythm, heat coiling in her belly as she rocks against him.

_You feel so bloody good_. As he sinks into her, face contorting into pleasure, tongue sliding between his lips in a compulsive gesture – hand curling around her hip as he pulls out only to push back in harder.

_I need you_. As he ducks his face into her neck, hips pushing and pulling her – driving her deeper, higher, hotter.

_Gods_. As she comes around him, white hot heat lancing through her body in electric waves as she arches and writhes for him – moaning his name into the darkness, nails digging into the skin of his back.

He pants harshly into her ear as his pace becomes disjointed and erratic above her. He stills suddenly, teeth clamping over her neck, and she mewls at the pain laced pleasure as shivers wrack his body. Her fingers comb through his hair as he collapses against her and she takes comfort in the rapid beating of his heart pressed against her own. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine them beating in time – one a mirror reflection of the other.

“I love you.” She whispers.

He presses his lips against the hollow of her throat as his fingers slide between them to press over her heart.

_I love you, too._

-/-

Robin manages to track down the witch to a hut deep in the woods and Emma scoffs as her and Killian drag themselves through the undergrowth. Why couldn’t she have a nice estate? Something a little warmer maybe.

Killian’s lips lift slightly and she chuckles under her breath because she just knows he’s reading her mind - open book, true love and all that goes with it making her impossibly easy for him to read.  

They approach a small little shack that looks like it was ripped straight from a two year olds rendering and a low whistle sounds from the trees – Robin and his Merry Men providing back up, just in case. She knows Regina is with them and the thought brings her comfort – knowing if anyone can take on this fucking _irritating_ witch, it’s her.

Killian tangles her fingers through his and presses a kiss against her knuckles.

_Ready, love?_

She sighs and eyes the hut warily.

“I suppose so.”

-/-

She isn’t ready.

She blinks her eyes open with a groan and stares up at the miniscule white light way above her. She sees his shadow as he peers over the edge and she knows he’s spitting a multitude of curses – but even if he did have his voice, she knows she’s down too far to hear anything. There’s a ringing in her ears as she sits up.

“I’m alright!” She shouts. She rubs at her head and winces when she feels warm moisture. Apparently falling down a massive sinkhole disguised by a rug isn’t great for your head. She tilts her head back and looks up in his general direction. “Go see if you can find anything to get me out of here.”

He disappears from her line of sight and she turns to take in her surroundings – the place she landed actually extending into a wide, open space. She steps further away from the light of the house above, wishing her flashlight had made the fall with her.

“Hello?” She takes another step forward, her shoes echoing around her. The space suddenly plunges into total darkness - like someone has suddenly wrapped her eyes in wool – and she stills, silence ringing around her.

“Emma?” The familiar lilt of his voice makes her heart jump to her throat and she breathes out.

“Killian?” She can hear the shuffling of feet close by – heavy and sure, just like his – but her eyebrows furrow when she realizes he has his voice back, and he is suddenly down here. “How did – “

“Found a flight of steps off of the kitchen, bloody stupid if you ask me.” His voice moves closer and she takes a hesitant step back because while it feels _so good_ to hear his voice after a week of silence, something isn’t sitting right. There is a hollowness to his deep cadence and she can’t see a damn thing down here.

Fingers close around her wrist and she knows immediately that it isn’t him, the familiar warmth that comes with his touch glaringly absent. She pulls back abruptly and his chuckle sounds right in her ear.

“So it’s like that, is it love?” There is a huff of hot air against her – sickeningly sweet – and she winces, pushing further back until she feels the cold stone of the wall. It’s still pitch black and she blinks her eyes wide, willing herself to just _see_.

“You aren’t him.” She says quietly and he laughs again.

“Why do you doubt me? Because I refuse to fawn over you? Perhaps I am just sick of your lack of affection when it comes to me.” His words are biting and angry, slamming into her gut. She clenches her eyes shut as they anchor deep in her chest, pulling her down, down, down.

“You aren’t him.” She says again and she feels a presence in front of her.

“I see the way you hold back from me, Swan. You haven’t fully let me in – still so afraid of becoming the lost girl. Well I have news for you, sweetheart.” The presence drawls closer and a swimming coldness erupts over her skin. “You always will be lost.”

He continues his slow approach over to her (she can feel it, the darkness seeping into her as he grows closer), his words a steady litany around her.

“No.” She whispers and she hates the anguish in her voice but it’s _him_ – it sounds just like _him_ – and he’s telling her terrible things.

“Why would I waste my time when there’s nothing left inside?” He doesn’t wait for her response, ignoring her whimper with a gleeful sort of snort. “Although I do _so_ enjoy the more pleasurable aspects of our relationship – when I take you and you beg me for more. No better than a common whore.”

“Stop it.” She slumps down against the wall and fingers close around her throat, bringing her upright and clamping down until white erupts behind her eyes.

“You were a fool for thinking I could love you – that anyone could love something as broken as you.” He seethes it in her face, the sweetness of his breath making her dizzy.

She pushes at his shoulders but he’s too strong and she _hurts_ – a deep throbbing pain all over. A sob tears itself from her throat in place of words and the darkness pulses around them, humming with life. His hook lands at her neck and she feels the sharp prick of the point – the pain bringing with it a startling clarity.

He doesn’t wear the hook anymore.

“You aren’t him.” She wheezes and she thinks of lazy days spent in bed, the warmth of his eyes, fingers dancing through her hair. She thinks of gentle laughs and soft kisses beneath her ear, whispered promises on a gentle sea – his hair fluttering in the breeze off the water.

Magic swells and bursts from her fingertips, illuminating the small space and the witch standing in front of her. The witch’s eyes widen almost comically and Emma pushes out, sending the woman across the space and into the rock wall across from her. There is a heavy crack, a shrill scream, and then silence.

Emma falls to her knees – exhaustion combining with sorrow and anger and heart break - and the last thing she thinks about before darkness claims her is that _he doesn’t wear the hook anymore_.

-/-

When she wakes, she is in their bed and he is sitting on the edge staring at her with a gentle expression. She blinks up at him and carefully inches her hand over to his, sighing in relief when warmth greets her at the contact.

It is him, and he is safe.

Still, the words of the witch linger.

_Whore. Nothing to love. Alone._

She looks away from him as she blinks away tears, instead focusing on the closed door.

“What happened?”

His voice is gruff with disuse and she sniffles as a tear falls from her eye and begins a slow descent down her cheek. She shakes her head hard and he sighs, shifting her over lightly so that he can occupy the space next to her. He lies down carefully and she tightens her grip on his hand.

“She said – “ She takes a shaky breath. “ _You_ said – “

But that is all she can manage before chest-heaving sobs overtake her, sorrow crashing over her in waves. He doesn’t say a word, just gathers her close in his arms and she gratefully ducks her face into his chest – greedily breathing in his spicy scent.

His lips press against her temple and he slowly and quietly begins to whisper to her, rocking her back and forth in his arms. He whispers stories of his love against her ear – telling her how he _will never leave, not bloody likely_ and how beautiful and strong she is. He tells her how she looks when she sleeps – _perfect and peaceful, golden hair splayed about_ – and tells her how she is his treasure – _mine, always mine_ – possessive pirate that he is.

His words drift off and she calms, leaning back and staring into his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, just thumbs at the corner of her lips.

_I love you_ his eyes say and she knows this to be true. She sighs and lets her lips fall into his.

“I love you, too.”     


End file.
